Gobsmacked
by KatieBell70
Summary: Ron Weasley never saw it coming. An antidote to all those Sexgod!Ron 'first time' fics, in five chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Ron Weasley was not enjoying his pudding. That didn't stop him from finishing it, of course, regardless of whether it tasted like straw and sand, it was pudding, after all. And he was sure that there was nothing wrong with the pub's kitchen. Tuesday's pudding had been excellent, really. Not as good as Hogwarts, of course, but… Anyway, his uncharacteristic lack of appetite probably had everything to do with the girl sitting next to him. Sitting next to him, not saying anything. Which was really rather remarkable because usually she had quite a bit to say. But since last night…well, he really didn't want to think about last night too much. Suffice to say, she had hardly said three words in twenty-four hours. And even before that, for about a month, really, she had been quieter than normal. 'Pensive' was the best word he could come up with, and for Ron, it was pretty good word. He knew that coming up with the 'right words' was not his strong suit. And he really would have liked to say something, to help her get through the events of last night, and after that, to get her to tell him why she had been so distant for the last month.

"Ron," said Hermione, making him jump at the sound of her voice. "I've been thinking."

"There's a switch." Ron fell back into his usual pattern of making jokes when he was really, really nervous.

"Very funny," she snapped, and somehow, seeing that familiar exasperated expression of hers filled him with relief. This was more like it; this was _normal,_ at least.

"_I_ thought it was," he replied with a smile

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, you keep this up and I may change my mind."

"About what?"

"About us."

He answered slowly, his eyes wide. "Wha…what do you mean, _us?_ Are you going to…chuck me?"

"No! Oh, honestly, Ron, how could you ask that?"

"Well…"

"Well, what?"

"I reckoned some day you'd come to your senses."

"Ron Weasley, you really are an idiot sometimes. For your information, what I have been thinking about is shagging you."

"Wha…what?"

"You heard me."

"B…but. I thought…" Ron was positively gobsmacked. He knew that _it_ would happen eventually, (like maybe a couple of years) but things had been progressing rather slowly since the first time he had kissed her, on the train, after Dumbledore's funeral. Since then, they had spent weeks, months actually, in each other's constant company, and had taken nearly every opportunity they could get to be alone together. It had gotten a lot easier after Harry had finally confronted them, telling them that there was no need to hide it for his sake, that he was neither blind nor stupid, and had figured it out almost from the beginning.

That had given them more time together, but things still had progressed at a snail's pace, which, if Ron was going to be totally honest with himself, was probably for the best, because the feelings that she stirred up in him were …well, a little scary. He had actually gotten a bit farther with Lavender Brown than he had gotten with Hermione, well at least until about a month before. Up to that point it had all been above the clothes, and he had to admit that even _that_ had been far more exciting than _anything_ he had done with Lavender. Maybe it was because he had fantasized for so long about what was underneath Hermione's robes that even to get a hint, just the shape, was almost overwhelming. But the feeling of bare skin, softer than he ever could have imagined, and the response that it had elicited from prim, proper Hermione, well, to be honest, he hadn't slept much that night, and when he had…

Ron was quite thrilled with the prospect of picking back up where they left off, but from that point on, she seemed to want to backpedal, in fact she seemed almost afraid to let him touch her. He had tried not to feel resentful, but his confusion and frustration had mounted over the weeks, made worse by their mutual frustration at the lack of progress in the Horcrux hunt.

But last night it had all come to a head, at least on the Horcrux quest. Finally a lead panned out. They discovered 'Hufflepuff's Cup' in a maze of subterranean tunnels beneath the Riddle family mansion, guarded by a series of truly horrible barriers. Ron had watched in horror and an almost physical pain as Hermione had been completely engulfed in flames, but she had screamed for him to stay back - to keep going onto the next barrier. It wasn't until later, after he had come back to be reunited with a completely unharmed Hermione that he had understood that his impulse to come to her rescue would have ruined the whole thing. Voldemort had assumed that anyone who was willing to let a companion suffer would not be a threat to him, or would certainly not be on the side of light. The fire had never been real, although it had looked and felt real, and Hermione had later admitted that the experience had been agonizing. Since then, she had been quiet and reclusive for nearly twenty-four hours.

Then this evening she suddenly appeared next to him as he ate dinner in the crowded Muggle pub above which they had been staying. She had regained her appetite, apparently, for she devoured a large roast beef sandwich and several pints of ale. Then, moments after Harry had left to send a message to Remus Lupin in private…_this_. To talk about..._shagging._ He wondered if he had ever heard her use the word before.

"Ron? You thought what?"

Ron had no idea how long he had been staring into space. "I thought you wanted to wait."

"I do. I did."

"And you've barely let me touch you since…well…_that night."_

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I thought I had offended you or something."

"You didn't."

"Because at the time...you seemed like you _wanted_ me to…"

"I did want you to…"

"And I was so afraid that you would think that I was taking advantage…Wait a second…What?"

"I _did _want you to," she repeated.

"Oh." He gulped.

"And it felt…perfect."

He grinned. "That's what I thought."

"And I wanted more." Her cheeks were flaming at this point, which seemed sort of …well, _mad,_ especially when she had been saying that she wanted to shag him just a few moments before.

"Really?"

"And then I had this dream…."

"So did I!"

"And I wanted to sneak into your room, but Harry was there."

"I wanted to sneak into your room but I thought you would hex me…"

"And the next morning I felt really shy."

"I noticed that."

"Because I was sure that everybody would know what I had been thinking about."

"I was too busy thinking about it myself.

"And then every time that you touched me I was afraid."

"Why, Hermione?"

"Because I have no…control when it comes to you. You distract me. You make me want…things."

His grin practically reached his ears this time.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that, you…_git!"_  
Ron couldn't help laughing, but she laughed along with him, albeit a little wryly.

"Anyway, after last night…I decided that I don't care."

"About me?"

"Honestly, Ron, how thickheaded can you be? Of course I care about you. I'll never _stop_ caring, I've been in love with you for…well, for _years_, for heaven's sake!"

He really wondered, for a moment, if the earth had dropped away from beneath his chair. All he could do in response was smile stupidly, certain that his eyes were as big as saucers and his face was beet red.

She blushed, gave a little half smile and looked at the table in front of her. After a while she continued, "So, as I was saying earlier; I think that we should, well…"

"What?"

"Um…make love."

"We should?"

"Yes. Right now."

"Here?"

"No, silly. In my room."

"Uh…"

"I'm going to go up right now, and um, change, and you can come up in about…say, five minutes?

"Uh…"

"Don't wait too long Ron, because Harry will be back soon, and he will get to talking to you and you may have trouble getting away."

"Right," he managed to squeak out.

"Oh, and Ron?"

"Hermione?"

"Lock the door behind you. And perhaps a silencing spell?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

For a few moments after she left, Ron stared at the doorway through which she had disappeared, his mouth agape. After a while, Harry made an appearance through the same doorway, forcing Ron to gather his wits and smile at his friend.

"That's done, anyway."

"What's done?"

"The letter."

"What letter?"

"The letter to Remus…the one I just left to send, not twenty minutes ago?"

"Oh, yeah—right. How soon before you think he has an answer?"

"Dunno. We'll just have to wait, won't we?" Harry took a large gulp of stout and looked around. "Where'd Hermione go?"

"Uh—upstairs…"

"Bit odd, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Hermione."  
"What about her?"

"Well...put it this way—we don't see her all day and then she comes downstairs, grinning like she's taken a little too much Euphoria Elixir…and eats more than I've ever seen her put away before. And considering what happened, you know—yesterday…"

"Yeah?"

"Bit odd, isn't it?"

Ron stood up abruptly. "Mental, that one. Gave up trying to figure her out years ago. Best not to waste your time, Harry."

"But Ron…I'm worried about her. I mean, she—we thought she'd _died!"_

"Don't remind me, Harry."

"But Ron, don't you think that may have—I don't know freaked her out a bit. I just want to help her deal with it. How often has she helped me sort out my shit?"

"I'll take care of it, mate."

"Ron—don't take this personally, but—you remember what Nearly Headless Nick said about you?"

"Oh, sod off, Potter!"

"No, seriously, mate—don't go pissing her off by saying something stupid."

"I do that twenty times a day and she still likes me for some reason. Anyway…" Ron started to walk away, shoulders hunched. His hands were shaking and he thrust them in the pockets of his trousers. He stopped and spun slowly on his heel, looking back at his friend, who froze halfway through the act of putting an hour-old chip in his mouth.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"She--wants me to shag her."

"What?" The chip fell out of Harry's fingers."

"Hermione--- said she wants us to…" He broke off as his voice cracked.

"She _said _that?"

"Yeah…just now."

"Well—_Shit,_ Ron!"

"What am I gonna do, Harry?"

"Dunno. I guess you're gonna have to—well, do it…"  
"But what if I'm rubbish at it?"

"Dunno, mate—just…Hell, I don't know—be nice to her, I guess."

"Yeah…" Ron shifted on his feet, shrugging his shoulders.

"Maybe it's like Quidditch, Ron. You just have to keep—practicing." Harry grinned, his neck reddening.  
"Yeah, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?" Ron smiled nervously, set his shoulders back, and looked purposely toward the doorway. He then looked back at Harry. "Bloody hell, mate—I'm going to shag Hermione!" With a couple of long strides he had disappeared from the room, leaving a very uncomfortable 'Chosen One' who suddenly lost his earlier desire for pudding. It was going to be a long night for all three of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Ron stood in front of the door to Hermione's room for a full two minutes. Finally summoning his courage, he made a movement to knock on the door, then remembered that she had hinted that he should come straight in and lock the door behind him. _Bloody hell, a silencing spell, too!_

He opened the door, half-expecting (half _hoping_, actually) for her to be lying naked across the bed. Instead, the bed was empty. The covers were turned down, candles surrounded it, but it was empty.

"Is that you, Ron?" she called out from behind the closed door to the loo.

"Hermione…" was all he could manage with the garden-gnome-sized lump in his throat.

"I'll be out in a minute."

He felt wave of nausea wash over his body, but underneath it all his blood hummed with excitement. He wanted to sit down, but suffered a moment of panic while trying to decide whether to sit down on the chair or the bed. Or maybe he should get _in_ the bed. Should he take off his clothes? Maybe just his shoes—he didn't want to seem presumptuous. But…this had been her idea, after all. He settled for leaving all of his clothes on, including his shoes (due mostly to a niggling suspicion in the back of his brain that this was an elaborate prank engineered by Fred and George, possibly requiring a quick getaway) and sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees. A sound from the general direction of the loo startled him, and he looked up. The first thing he noticed was that her cheeks were blazing and she couldn't quite meet his eyes. Then he looked down, and drew in a gasp of air. She had on a nightgown, but one unlike any nightgown he had ever seen (at least outside the Muggle catalogue that Dean had smuggled into his trunk fifth year.)

It was dark blue, and held up only by tiny strings at her shoulders, and was made of some shiny cloth that clung to her body and rippled as she moved. It stopped right in the middle of her thighs and her feet were bare. The lump in his throat doubled in size. He fought off an urge to jump on her, knocking her to the ground.

"Hermione…_wow!"_

"No… 'bloody hell,' Ron?_"_

"That, too," he said, making a concentrated effort not to let his voice crack.

With a nervous smile, she took a couple of steps toward him but hesitated before walking all the way to the bed. He did jump up then, but only to stand up and close the distance between them. Hardly daring to breathe, he touched the side of her face, then tugged her chin up so that she was encouraged to look directly at him. "Listen, Hermione, before I forget - and I have a feeling that I _am_ going to forget lots of things, because right now I'm not entirely sure that this isn't a dream - one of many that I've had like this, I probably should say. But I forgot, downstairs, and I want to get it out of the way."

"Yes, Ron? What did you forget?"

"Well I didn't forget, I just forgot to say it - I love you."

"I sort of suspected that you did." Her shy smile widened, and she finally looked directly at him, laughing softly.

"Bloody know-it-all," he muttered, but he was laughing too, and found himself lowering his mouth to kiss her: a quick, possessive claiming of her lips. She didn't seem to mind; she sighed and leaned against him, kissing him in response but more softly and definitely more deeply. Suddenly he became very aware of the fact that he had a half-naked Hermione in his arms. His hands, which had been resting on her shoulder, were itching to slide down the smooth satin which only came up to the end of her back - _or better yet, her front_ - but he found himself hesitating.

As her kiss ended and she pulled away, she looked up at him as if trying to size him up, which only made him more nervous. She then seemed to come to a decision of some sort, because, with an enigmatic smile, she grabbed his hand and led him to the bed. He stopped just short of it, standing over her while she sat down on the edge, then looked up at him expectantly.

"Should I…?" He tugged at his faded tee shirt in demonstration.

She bit her lip, frowning slightly. "Why don't we just pretend that we're going to have a bit of a snog and take some of the pressure off, Ron?"

He looked at her skeptically. "With you dressed like that?"

"You've seen me in less."

"When?" He'd certainly seen her less in his mind, but in reality, she was usually dressed conservatively.

"I wore a bathing suit in front of you, that summer before the Quidditch World Cup."

"Oh, yeah, that. But," he pointed out, as the bathing suit image immediately popped to the forefront of his mind; "you've changed a bit since then. And, even at that, it took me _ages_ to get that image out of my head, at least to the point that I didn't get random hard-ons – and usually at the worst possible moments, too."

"_Really?" _Ron would have thought that he'd just given her a sack of galleons (or a huge, rare book) based on the look on her face.

"It was awful," he muttered. "You were _Hermione,_ my best mate, and you weren't supposed to do that to me. The only thing worse would have been to get one for _Harry."_

She laughed merrily at that. "You didn't, did you?"

"Uh, _no…"_ He was appalled that she'd even asked, and she laughed even harder. He could feel his face reddening. Fortunately the tension had dissipated a bit, and Ron managed to relax enough to sit down next to her on the bed. "D'you reckon…should I take my shoes off?"

"That's probably not a bad idea."

He tugged off his trainers without bothering to untie them, kicked them aside, and turned back towards her. "Hermione…are you sure?" he asked, and they both knew he wasn't talking about taking off his shoes.

She nodded. "Absolutely."

He looked at her, wondering for the millionth time when he was going to figure out what was going on inside that brilliant but unbalanced brain of hers. She must have seen the uncertainty on his face and took pity on him, explaining her motivations, "You and I…we had to grow up in a hurry."

She seemed to find something funny, because she gave an odd little laugh, shook her head and continued, "Although, I'll admit that _both_ of us behaved like a couple of infants last year. But _now_—I've loved you for so long, I _know _it's not going to go away, and I want to know that when bad things—like yesterday—happen, I will be able to come to you and together we can make it better."

"We already do…"

"But it'll be _different._ I don't want to feel guilt or fear or frustration, or _any _of that rubbish. I don't care anymore. I just need you. I need to feel the way that I do when I'm with you. And I want us to have _this _to look forward to at the end of really crap days. So let's not discuss it anymore, let's just…Why don't you kiss me again, because that always feels really good."

"Yeah…all right, then." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, trying to put his relief that she was alive and unharmed in the back of his mind, and trying not to think about what he was going to be doing in a short time. He just concentrated on getting to that point where she would make that little sigh and her body would relax against his, the point where he always knew it was going to be a really good snog. The sigh came a lot quicker than normal, he wondered if it had anything to do with the ale she had drunk earlier or if his hands (which were in contact a lot much more skin than normal) had anything to do with it. She was right, of course; pretending that it was just any normal snog made it easier.

Their kisses became deeper and more intense and his hands grew bolder, he was mesmerized by the sensation of bare skin under the slick satin of her nightgown. He was just beginning to entertain the notion of tugging one of those tiny straps down in order to get a good look at what he had only felt before tonight when he was distracted by _her_ attempts to tug off _his_ shirt.

He pulled away and within seconds, the shirt was flung to the far corner of her room. She didn't even bother to scold him for being so careless with his clothes or for messing up her room. He began to reach for her again, but she eluded him; she seemed determined to get a good look at him and to explore his torso with warm, curious fingers. She was wearing a look of fierce concentration, and it was a little startling for Ron to realize that she was as fascinated with his body as he was with hers. He tried to relax and let her experiment, but he found himself mentally cursing very quickly. Leave it to the know-it-all to figure out how to send all his blood racing south with just the barest touch of her fingers.

He decided to even things up by giving her some of the same treatment, running his fingertips over her neck and shoulders, down and back up her arms, and across her collarbone. He eventually hooked his finger into the strap of her gown and slowly dragged it down her arm, holding his breath in anticipation. It stopped just above the crook of her elbow, and unfortunately for him, the rest of the gown was not pulled down with it. He frowned and reached over to tug at the other strap, repeating the process. Still, the offending garment remained up, held precariously by the swell of her chest, but slipping a bit every moment.

She eyed him wickedly, then slipped her arms out of the straps, allowing the gown to puddle around her waist. The lump in his throat was now the size of a large dragon. He had this urge to pounce - to knock her back roughly against the bed and get his hands and his mouth all over her tits.

_No, that isn't right. Not _tits..._ tits are…what Lavender Brown thrust into your hands. Tits are what those girls in the magazine under Fred's bed had, what you really enjoyed looking at and fantasizing over, but in the end felt a little bit dirty thinking about. Looking at Hermione is something else entirely. Like one of those statues that you saw at the British Museum. This is _Hermione,_ and they're attached to her and you love them even more because you love everything about her. And they're more fucking amazing than you ever could have imagined._ Ron felt like his skin was chilled by a sudden northern wind, even as he felt a flood of warmth wash through his body. He reached a hand out to touch her, hardly daring to breathe.

"Bloody beautiful, Hermione," he finally exhaled.

"So are you, Ron," she replied, and her voice was lower than normal. She had this look in her eyes unlike anything he had ever seen before; she was looking at him like he was a great big juicy steak and she was starving, or a like he was a dish of strawberry ice cream on a hot day.

_Absolutely mental, she is._ Still, it shook him to the core to realize that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He cupped a breast reverently in his hand, and he could feel her thundering heartbeat against his palm. He dragged his thumb across the nipple, watching it constrict in reaction. _Holy shite, that is so cool._ Thrilled, fascinated and with a trembling hand, he moved closer and reached for the other breast. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, then slowly lowered her body to the bed. He quickly settled in next to her, reluctant to let go now that he finally had his hands full. Propped up on his elbow, he kissed her again, more deeply than he ever had and she seemed to love it. She responded by sliding her arms around his neck, thrusting her hands in his hair, arching against his palms, and making the hottest little whimpering sounds that he ever could have imagined.

Encouraged, he kissed his way down her neck, sucking and biting softly, finally replacing one of his hands with his mouth, and there was nothing _little _about the sound she made then.

"Oh, god, _Ron!"_

"So bloody beautiful…" He closed his lips over her nipple again, sucking a bit harder, and she moaned: a deep throaty sound that sent magical currents up and down his body. He moved over to close his mouth over the other one, suckling with enthusiasm. _They ought to make a Bertie Bott's with this flavor – they'd make a fortune. _

"Ow!"

The sound took a moment to register "Huh?"

Hermione, her chest heaving, said, "Nothing, don't stop, just…gentler?"

"Oh, yeah, right…sorry." He bent down to continue his task - a little more cautiously - trying to figure out by her sounds and movements what worked and what didn't. As long as he was careful, most of it seemed to work, and she seemed willing to let him spend as long as he liked at it. He would have imagined (actually he _had_ imagined) that he could have spent hours _– days - _exploring (well, to be frank, _playing with_) the very two items that had been the centerpiece of his dreams for years. In reality, however, (and probably because he'd never imagined that the first time he got to play with them was also going to be the first time that he got to be inside of her) his mind was already drifting further along her body. Somehow, very quickly, it had stopped being a simple snog, and (probably because she was being so welcoming and responsive) his imagination was slipping south along with the nightgown that kept getting pushed lower and lower on her hips. He was already picturing her knickers, wondering if they were going to be the plain white cotton ones that he had imagined (based upon his unfortunate glimpses of Ginny's laundry) or if they would be something more like what the girls (or, rather, women) had worn in Dean's catalogue. A few days ago, there wouldn't have even been a doubt in his mind, but after tonight…

Holding his breath and mentally crossing his fingers, he reluctantly pulled his mouth away from her breasts and began kissing the area below them. Since she seemed disinclined to halt his progress, he let his hand side down to her hips, pulling the satin lower and lower while he distracted her by kissing her navel. Eventually he met a little resistance, not from her, but from the weight of her body on the satin. Apparently he had not distracted her as much as he'd thought, because she caught on to his problem right away, and she helpfully lifted her bottom off the bed, allowing him to pull the satin gown over her hips, down her legs and onto the floor.

He very quickly found himself incapable of thought, let alone speech. _You can't even call these knickers!_ He didn't have any idea what to call them, but they seemed to have no back to them. _And the front; _not only was it _tiny,_ but it was almost transparent!

"_Hermione!"_

"Too much?" sheasked with a knowing smile.

_Not enough, but I'm not stupid enough to tell her that. I wonder if she's been wearing these under her robes all along. _"Bloody brilliant, Hermione."

He tentatively placed his hand on her thigh, watching her face anxiously to see how she reacted. She smiled in encouragement, and he slid his fingers up a little further.

"I…"

"Please, Ron…"

_Please what? Please stop? Please go on? Please get it over with? _More than anything else, he wanted to see the rest of her, but then he wondered how long he could last before he lost what little self-control he had.

This was it; the last barrier, and soon he was actually going to get to be inside her, to feel her around him. It was such a stupid thing to be nervous about._ Such a simple thing really, I mean, how could it be that much different from that time she put her mouth around your finger and sucked the icing off? Yeah, and you had wet dreams about that for days, didn't you? And a finger is a very different thing than your prick. And her mouth is nothing at all like her…_

Without a conscious decision, he found his hand drifting up the impossibly soft skin of her thigh, then up and over the fabric of her knickers.

The response was immediate. She arched her body and closed her eyes, and he discovered that he really liked looking at her breasts from that angle. And when her body came back down, her legs weren't as tightly closed as they had been. He tried it again, this time allowing his thumb to make the slightest of incursions between her legs.

Ron groaned_. Bloody hell; that is so damn hot. That moan she just made, and the thing with her back again, and her knickers are…wet, and you remember all too well what Bill told you about how girls got wet when they… _

"Hermione, I fucking love you."

"Ron…again…do that again."

And so he did, but with more a lot more confidence, allowing his thumb to venture back and forth, loving the way she squirmed in reaction. His curiosity got the better of him very quickly and he wondered what he was waiting for. If she liked it this much over the knickers…

He slipped his thumb under the fabric, coming across short, wiry hair and beyond that, _flesh_… With an audible gulp, he slid his thumb further under her knickers, fascinated. It was unlike anything that he'd ever felt before; slick and soft and unbelievably warm, and he wanted to feel it around his cock more than anything he's ever wanted in his life. He replaced his thumb with a couple of his fingers and burrowed deeper, groaning, especially when her heard her whimper, opening her legs in encouragement.

He tore his eyes away from where his fingers were, and looked at her. Her eyes were glazed and she had one of her hands on her breast, and he didn't think he could wait another second to be inside her. With his heart pounding in his ears, and feeling decidedly feverish, he began to tug her knickers down her hips.

_I'm going to die, right now, and with a stupid goofy grin on my face. I've got Hermione totally starkers in front of me! No scratch that; I'm not going to die, but I am going to come in my pants. And why the hell do I still have clothes on? _

Hermione reached over and put her hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards her. He got the point rather quickly (for him) and immediately slid on top of her and snogged her with everything he had ever felt for her. She slid her arms around him then ran her fingers down his back, slipping them under the waistband of his trousers. Finding easy access because the trousers were baggy, as all his trousers were, because they were stupid hand-me-downs from Bill, and never quite fit him right, she pressed boldly on, slipping them under the elastic of his briefs, exploring tentatively.

And then, _oh my word,_ she was clutching his bare arse, which felt so goddamn amazing, and raising her knees to either side of him. That was when he realized that he was right _there,_ there were just a couple of ruddy layers of fabric between them, and he heard a roaring in his ears, and something like a bell, which was really odd but he wasn't going to dwell on it too much. He kept pressing his body against hers, and she was thrusting back up in response, and the friction nearly sent him into oblivion. But she just kept clutching, and squeezing, and he put both his hands on her breasts, and then she was writhing, and these hot little sounds were coming from the back of her throat, which he could feel as well as hear, because his lips were all over her neck.

Still, that annoying ringing kept filling his ears, but it wasn't really like a bell; it was more like a whistle, and he got this horrible image of Madam Hooch riding a broomstick above them and whistling at them to 'end play.' Then - worse yet- he got an image of Snape, floating above them, sneering and blowing that stupid whistle, which seemed to be getting louder...

"The phone…" Hermione gasped, trying to move out from under him.

"Huh?" To his deliciously preoccupied mind, she may as well have been speaking mermish, but he was fairly certain that 'fone' wasn't a word he recognized.

"The phone is ringing, Ron."

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_**A/N: Ok, I know, beat me now for the cliffhanger of death. But the chapter was getting too damn long, and I thought Ron really needed to calm down a bit. Will you forgive me if I tell you the last chapter is nearly half written? Maybe? Well, anyway, I hope you enjoyed the buildup; Please let me know what you think.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_The phone is ringing, Ron_. Hermione's words hovered at the edges of Ron's brain, just enough to stop him from unbuttoning his trousers, which had been the next item on his mental 'to do' list, but not enough to do much more.

"You mean …the felly…?"

"It has to be one of my parents, they are the only ones I gave this number to."

"Parents?"

"Yes, Ron, I call them every couple of days…"

"You do?"

"Can you get off me for a moment? I have to answer or they'll call every five minutes until I do."  
"Oh. Yeah, right…sorry." Ron's ears were clearing up, and his mind was beginning to function again, and the thought of her parents was tantamount to the effect of a cold shower, especially when it brought along with it the thought of his own parents--particularly his mother. But when Hermione stood up, completely starkers, he nearly lost it again, licking his lips in appreciation.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" His response was automatic.

"Could you…can you get off the bed for a minute? I need the bedcover."

"Huh?" he asked, but he was on his feet within seconds.

She pulled up the thin blanket, wrapping it around her, holding it together at her chest.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't talk to my mother without any clothes on, Ron!"  
"How's she going to know? Do those things have cameras in them?"

"What? Oh, the phone? No, of course not. Well, actually some do, but they are very expensive, and I don't think they will catch on -- specifically because of moments like this. Ron, I really need to pick up the phone."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Nobody. Just…stay quiet, please." She looked at him pleadingly, but Ron had no intention of letting out a peep. He'd only met Mr. Granger once, but he had heard that dentist's drills were something that many Muggles were frightened of. He wasn't about to find out why.

"I'll just…sit here," he said, and broke off when she picked up that funny thing that you spoke into. He had seen Hermione talk into the fellytone, no, _tellyfone_, once or twice over the summer, and was embarrassed to realize that she spoke in a completely normal voice into it, meaning that he had gotten it completely wrong when he talked to Harry the summer after second year. But then he remembered the bloke in that muggle café, who'd carried a phone with no visible cord attached, and he seemed to be yelling into it, so maybe he hadn't been so far off after all.

"No, mother, nothing's wrong, I was just sleeping."

Ron held back a snicker at that.

"I realize it's early. I had a bit of a hike today, and I woke up before dawn to start it, so I am rather tired."

Ron was actually rather impressed at how smoothly she lied, which had him wondering if she had ever lied to him, which got him thinking about the whole "Viktor is just my friend' business, which then left him scowling for a bit.

"Yes, I ate a very nice dinner. Roast beef sandwich and chips…and a salad, of course."

The mention of dinner made him remember their conversation _after_ dinner, and it suddenly occurred to him that Viktor Krum could go fuck himself, because he'd never got a chance to do _half_ the things Ron had done to Hermione, let alone what Ron was about to do.

"Yes, of course, I brushed my teeth, and flossed." She looked over at Ron and rolled her eyes. He lay back against the pillow, grinning, his arms crossed behind his head. He watched in disbelief as her eyes traveled down the length of his torso, finally resting on the buttons of his trousers, then turning away and blushing. Ron could feel his heart speed up again. He impulsively sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and turned his back to her. Within seconds, his trousers were unbuttoned and sliding down his hips along with his pants, then kicked to the corner of the floor. He turned his head to find Hermione staring at him, her cheeks blazing, and then she quickly looked away.

"What? Oh, yes…tomorrow I think we are going to change areas. There is a cliff trail on the coast that we heard was worth a look at from some other hikers we met yesterday."

Ron took advantage of her distraction to slip under the bedsheet, reckoning that the sight of a fully (well, almost fully) armed cannon was not something she would want to come across unawares. He watched her back, thinking that he could almost see the tension creeping into her shoulders and mourning the loss of the eager, welcoming, utterly turned-on Hermione of a few minutes ago.

"Yes mother, I'll give you the number if we change lodging."

Ron suddenly realized that due to the narrowness of her bed and the length of his arm, he could easily reach the blanket that she had wrapped around herself. Grinning, he stealthily gathered up a handful of it and gave it a slight tug. She sucked in her breath, held on tightly with one hand, and blindly batted behind her with the other.

"I love you too. Tell Dad I'm sorry that I missed him."

Ron kept on tugging; she kept on smacking, and then she finally turned around to give him a stern look. It was just the opportunity he was looking for: with one giant tug, the blanket was sailing through the air, landing on the floor on the other side of the bed.  
Hermione, clearly flustered, said, "Oh, all right, then; goodbye Mother."

Even before she had finished putting the phone back on the cradle, Ron was up on his knees behind her. By the time she muttered, "Ronald Weasley, you _insufferable_…," his mouth was on the spot where her neck and shoulder met, sucking gently.

"I'm going to hex your manhood off, you…_oh, god…"_

"Don't think you really want to hex _that_ off, love," he murmured, "Might come in handy sooner than you think." At that, he settled his legs down on either side of her hips, pressing his torso and the very body part she had just threatened against her back. Hermione made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and he took it as a sign of encouragement. He pushed her hair to one side, feasting on her neck and moving up to flick his tongue into her ear just as his hand cupped one of her breasts. She groaned and leaned back against him, sliding her palms down his thighs.

He was just beginning to get used to the sensation of her bare skin against his erection when she startled him by turning around in his arms and knocking him back against the mattress. If being pressed up against her back was exiting, it had _nothing _on feeling her sprawled on top of him, attacking his mouth.

"Do you think my mother could tell by the sound of my voice that I am about to shag my boyfriend?"

"I hope not," Ron replied, trying to put the image of her parents out of his mind before it turned into an image of _his_ parents, and ruined the mood altogether. Of course, he was fairly surprised that she hadn't been snatched out of the mood by having to actually carry on a conversation with her mother and he decided to ask, "So you still you _still_ want to…?"

"Absolutely," she said, kissing him soundly and rolling both of them to the side.

His thrill at her words faded rather quickly, and Ron suddenly felt very vulnerable. He'd spent most of his life despairing over his freckled skin, not to mention his limbs; which seemed to stretch a few inches every time he woke up, never allowing his equilibrium or his muscles tocatch up. If you combined those insecurities with the bright red hair that he hated, which of course was only slightly darker as it lightly covered his body, it was no wonder he had never felt really confident in his appearance. Hermione had told him, time and again, how much she admired his courage and loyalty, but had always been reticent when it came to commenting on his looks.

Lavender, on the other hand, had _showered_ him with complements on his height or his eyes or the way he looked on the Quidditch pitch, but had never seemed to see past the surface. He certainly preferred Hermione's reasons for liking him--well _loving _him, amazingly enough. And Hermione _had_ called him beautiful less than twenty minutes before, so that had to be a good thing. Still, it was a scary thing to be the first naked bloke that a girl saw, after all. (At least he _hoped_ that he was the first naked bloke she'd seen.)

_Best not to go there Weasley._

However, he hadn't really been prepared to face her scrutiny, at least not so abruptly. He did his best to distract her with kisses on her neck and jaw, encouraging her to look up toward the headboard, away from his body, all the while wishing he'd thought to put out the candles surrounding the bed before impulsively stripping. As he tried to remember if _Nox_ put out candles as well as wands, he wondered why he'd never thought to ask Charlie for a few pointers on building up muscles the last time he saw him. If only he could manage to maneuver her beneath the sheet, hiss immediate dilemma would be solved. He thought he'd have better control of the situation if he rolled on top of her, so he put his arms around her, tugging her in that direction.

"Oh, no you don't, Weasley!"

"Huh?"

"Haven't you spent the last thirty minutes ogling me? It's my turn now." She pushed him back against the bed, then propped herself up on one elbow, with a smirk and a feverish glint in her eyes.

_Gulp_. "Uh…"

The hand that still pressed against his chest began a slow slide down his torso, becoming more of a caress by the time it reached his navel. She never took her eyes off his, and her cheeks became increasingly flushed the lower she progressed. Finally, her eyes followed the path her hand had made, and he resisted the urge to shut his eyes tightly in response.

Her eyes made contact with his erection and widened, making him wonder if she was repulsed or impressed. Then, suddenly, he wanted to laugh, because she got this look of curiosity on her face that was so typical of Hermione it ought to have appeared alongside her name in a dictionary. She bit her lip and traced the length of him with her finger.

_So. Bloody. Good._ He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing out loud and ruining the moment. The last thing he wanted was to break her concentration. Unfortunately, his cock had a mind of its own and twitched toward her in response. A sharp intake of breath was the only sound she made. She tried it again, using three fingertips. He couldn't hold back his groan this time, and she raised her eyes to his, looking decidedly smug.

"Bit sensitive, isn't it?"

"Bloody hell, woman, stop teasing me!"

"Is it going to jump out at me again?"

Ron was feeling rather desperate to divert the focus away from his misbehaving body parts and muttered, "You tell me. Haven't you read fifty books about it?'

"Well…"

"I was only _joking,_ Hermione."

"_Three,_ actually."

"You've got to be putting me on."

"Well, Mother sent me one when I got my period. It was informative, but fairly technical-- though it did have drawings."

_"What?"_

"And Parvati had this racy novel that she passed around. The writing was rubbish, but it was very detailed."

"Hermione, you're killing me…"

"And my aunt Moira sent me this book called _"Our Bodies…"_

"Woman!"

"Oh, sorry…" Without giving him any warning, she grasped his prick in her hand, sliding her fingers from base to tip as if she were polishing a broomstick.

Ron yelped, "Bugger!"

"Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, did I…?"

"You're not pulling a Mandrake out of a pot, Hermione!"

"Oh, dear…I had an image, I thought that's how you blokes did it to yourselves…"

"No!" He looked at her, face burning with embarrassment, and couldn't stop himself from asking, "You pictured me, doing…?"

"You _don't?"_

"Uh…"

"I mean, I just _assumed…"_

"I really _don't want to talk about it,_ Hermione."

"But…" She kept eyeing his undoubtedly purple face, then finally looked down to where her hand was still grasping him, though loosely. "Why don't you just tell me, or _show_ me how…"

_I couldn't possibly talk to her about that. _"It's just…" He looked up at the ceiling. "Sensitive," he finished lamely.

"Oh, of course! So if I…" she loosened her grasp, sliding her fingers up his length gently, and he groaned in appreciation.

"I didn't expect it to be so soft."

"You call that _soft?"_ he barked, a little offended.

"Not …no, I meant _silky,_ the skin…I mean, to look at it, you wouldn't think…"

He stared at her, dumbfounded, but she went on, "And I thought it would be--I don't know--_taut._ You know, because it is all stretched out, but the skin is really quite loose, isn't it?"

_Absolutely mental._ She was treating his prick as if it were an extra credit project for Care of Magical Creatures. He would have shut her up with a kiss if she hadn't been doing glorious things with her fingers, making it impossible for him to do anything but sit there with an undoubtedly vacant expression on his face.

After a few more minutes' exploration, she sat up on her knees, sliding her hand back up to his chest, and he nearly whined in protest at the loss of her fingers. However, because this new position gave him a better view of her breasts he decided to keep quiet and see what she would do next. In one smooth movement, she bent her head down to kiss his neck, sliding one of her knees between his legs, nearly straddling his thigh. With a gulp, he realized that she was still damp from earlier. His arms went around her, his hands almost immediately sliding down to cover her bottom.

She was one of the few people who knew, for obvious reasons, how sensitive his ears were (Fred and George being two of the other people--they used to torture him by sticking things in his ears.) So, when her tongue drew a line up from his neck to his earlobe, she had to have a pretty good idea that it was going to drive him absolutely mad. When she pulled his earlobe into her mouth, sucking gently, he stopped himself from shouting out by grabbing her arse and pressing her more firmly onto his thigh. She seemed to like the new pressure a fair bit, because she moaned into his ear and used her teeth on him, which made him jump a few inches off the mattress. Eventually, she took pity on him and left his ear alone, making a trail of kisses down his neck, then spending a little time on his shoulders, his chest and his stomach. Immediately after that she managed to shock the hell out of him by looking up into his eyes, giving him a devilish smile, and then swirling her tongue over the tip of his cock.

"_Shite!"_

"Language, Ron," she scolded, but her voice was throaty and he didn't think he had offended her.

"Stop nagging me and do that again, will you?"

"That's a fine way to ask me," she said, and this time he was fairly sure she was teasing him.

"Please," he growled.

"Hmm," she said slyly, and ran her tongue down the length of him.

"You're bloody well going to kill me."

She chuckled and blew gently on the skin she had already moistened. "We wouldn't want _that,_ would we? I guess I'd better stop."

At this point, he'd had about all he the teasing he could stand, so he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her on her back, pinning her to the bed with his body.

"I wasn't finished, Ron!" she protested

"If you'd kept _that_ up you would have had a very big mess on your hands, or more likely, _your face,_ and I have something else in mind." He kissed her, not caring in the least bit where her mouth had just been--actually, oddly turned on by it. Of course, that may have also had something to do with the fact that they were pressed together, skin to skin, and there was really nothing stopping him from slipping inside her at this point except his nerves.

"Are you ready? I mean, can I…?"

"Oh!" Her eyes grew huge and she looked away, saying, "Yes, of course, but...wait a minute, if you don't mind. I bought something… It's… it's supposed to make it easier; it's in the drawer of the nightstand"

He had absolutely no clue what she was talking about, but as his arms were longer, he obligingly opened the drawer for her. As long as he had her in this position, he really didn't want her to wriggle out of it. After fumbling around for a few seconds, he managed to pull out what looked like a tube of toothpaste. He looked at her, puzzled.

"You want to brush your teeth? Now?" _Her parents really have her trained._

She laughed, sounding just slightly hysterical. "No, Ron, it's…Here, could you just--close your eyes for a minute?"

"Why?"

"Just…humor me, please."

Ron reluctantly obliged her. After a moment, he felt her hand between them, and his eyes flew open, only to find Hermione--_oh shite--_ touching herself. He cleared his throat. "I'd be happy to do that for you, if you like."

"Oh!" Her eyes flew open. "You looked!"

"After where you just had your mouth, you're embarrassed to have me see you putting…what is that, anyway?

"Lubricant," she whispered, avoiding his eyes. "It's supposed to make it hurt less."

Hurt…_less?_ "I don't want it to hurt at all."

"Well, I'm afraid--I don't think you can help it, Ron. But, honestly, it should only hurt at first, I just need to get used to you, and I mean, what with the fact that I've used tampons and all, it may not even bleed…"

Ron had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but that was nothing unusual, especially when she was talking about…female things. Of course his father had explained stuff like periods and tampons to him about the same time that he had explained how babies were made, but Ron had found the whole conversation mortifying, not to mention a little hard to believe. Of course, it took him a few years to come to the startling realization that his father had neither been lying nor joking when he claimed that people actually did all that _on purpose -_for _fun_, actually (although his father had said it was more about _love.)_ And every one of the changes that his dad had predicted Ron's body would go through _had _actually happened just as he'd said they would, making Ron wish he'd paid more attention to what Arthur had said about girls and _their_ changes. Hermione's words made a strange sort of sense, but he did find one possibility a little jarring.

"Hermione, are you on your…period _now?"_

She stared at him, wide eyed. "What? _No! _That's not till next week."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed in relief. "Then why were you talking about…tamp…?"

Hermione mercifully interrupted him. "Oh, now I see! What I meant…I mean, I've used them…in the past, so the membrane, er, shouldn't be an issue."

"Right," Ron said, hoping that the tone of his voice made it clear that he had gotten the picture and she could stop talking at any time, preferably sooner rather than later. Now that he thought about it, some speculative dormroom conversations were coming back to him, and she was beginning to make perfect sense. And then, that conversation with Bill started coming back, too; the conversation by the pond the summer before the World Cup, where Bill stressed the importance of being gentle, and making sure that the girl was ready, and seeing to it that she had a good time too. Ron was fairly certain sure that Hermione was having a good time, or rather, she had been, until she started getting all…technical on him and he had managed prove himself utterly clueless, as usual.

"I've wrecked the mood, haven't I?" she whispered, her cheeks burning.

"Oh, no!" he protested, then snorted and shook his head. "It'd be nearly _impossible_ to get me out of the mood at this point. I'm about ready to burst with wanting you. Besides, you wouldn't be _Hermione_ if you hadn't researched and planned and…"

"Taken all the spontaneity out of it…" she giggled.

He laughed along with her, touching her face affectionately. "I'd say telling me you wanted to shag me in the middle of pudding was pretty damn spontaneous, Hermione."

"It was, rather, wasn't it?" She preened a little, and then got that woman-on-a-mission look back on her face. "Tell you what: why don't you kiss me again, and I'll put some of this…stuff on _you,_ and we'll see how quickly we can get back on…"

"Schedule," he teased, and then did his best to give her a kiss that would take her breath away. She returned the favor by grasping him in a very warm, wet hand, and all remaining thoughts of his scarlet-faced father, gently and haltingly explaining the facts of life, mercifully flew from his brain.

"So bloody good…you're getting really good at that," he groaned, kissing her shoulder as she, with increasing confidence, slid her slick, closed fingers up and down his shaft.

"So I'm not pulling a mandrake out of a pot anymore?" she asked, and he could just picture her smug smile he felt her breath against his neck.

"Just try not to yank it off," he said, sliding his hand between their bodies and slipping a finger inside her. Instead of a teasing reply, she only moaned, and he found he liked that even better. He didn't know if it was the potion she had applied to herself or her body's response, but he reckoned that she was more than ready for him. That didn't stop him from exploring her slick flesh for a bit longer—she did seem to enjoy it, after all.

"Need to be inside you," he whispered against her ear.

"Yes..." she panted, releasing him from her grasp and sliding a damp hand around his hip and onto his arse.

With his heart pounding to the point of bursting in his chest, he maneuvered his body into position between her legs while she raised her knees to either side of him. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, and he pressed into her, biting the inside of his cheek to remind himself to go slowly and carefully.

_Hot…and wet, and fucking amazing. But tight. Almost too tight, as if…_ He realized that he had closed his eyes as he had begun his agonizingly slow progress, so he opened them quickly, wanting to look at her to see if she looked uncomfortable. He realized belatedly that, instead of wrapping her arms around him, or grabbing his arse like she had been doing earlier, her hands were against her sides, fists clenched. And then it occurred to him that her whole body seemed to be clenched up; from her jaw to her scrunched-up eyelids and even the legs that had his hips in something of a vise-like grip--which might have explained the difficulty he was having.

"Hermione? Am I hurting you?"

"No…not…It's not bad, it's just…"

_Not bad. Just what a bloke wants to hear at a moment like this._ "Hermione, you're going to have to relax a bit, or this isn't going to work. Or at least…it's probably going to be bloody uncomfortable both of us…D'you want me to stop?"

"No! Really, I _want_ this…"

_Could have fooled me._ Using every ounce of self-control he had, he halted his progress, even pulling back a little, waiting until she looked him in the eyes again.

"I love you," he said, giving her his most reassuring smile. She managed to smile back weakly, and he gave her a long, slow, wet kiss, sliding one of his hands over a breast at the same time. He could feel her heart pounding against his palm. He thought about that little sigh that she would make sometimes when they used to snog, and he thought maybe that something like that was needed here, so he kissed and caressed her, trying to think about anything but where his cock was and how incredible she felt around him. Little by little her body began to relax, and by the time he heard her sigh into his ear, he had sunk so far into her that he couldn't go any further.

He lifted his head again and they looked at each other in amazement. Her smile was clearly genuine this time.

"_Brilliant,"_ he breathed, hardly daring to move, but really, really wanting to. "You all right, then?"

"Yes, I think so," she replied, wriggling a little, experimentally.

He groaned, thinking that she was far too good at torturing him and deciding that he had endured more than enough. With a sharp intake of breath, he began to slide out of her.

"Oh," she squeaked, and he was surprised that he could hear it at all, because the roaring in his ears had started up again, and nothing had ever felt as madly, earth-shatteringly good as the friction between their bodies. He moved forward again, and this time she participated, meeting him part of the way there, and he thought that the resulting crash between their bodies was about a million times better than the friction had been. Apparently, so did Hermione, because she moaned in a way he was fairly certain hadn't had anything to do with pain, and then she repeated the movement, over and over again. Ron found that, impaired as his hearing was, the sounds that did register in his brain managed to heighten his arousal to the point that they seemed to be amplified by a magical megaphone. Every sigh, every moan, every exhalation of air that she made sent him closer and closer to the edge until she cried out, which immediately sent him plummeting over it.

_That had to have been it. Bill said that I would know without a doubt when it happened for her, and I've never heard her yell like that. And I couldn't have lasted a second longer, anyway. And it was fucking brilliant._

Every happy thought, every feeling of confidence and exuberance he had ever felt had combined into one surge of pleasure and lust and something like an intergalactic, magical, mystical, cosmic _'hell, yes!'_ that ended with him feeling utterly boneless, pathetically grateful, and filled with contentment. He kissed her, nearly missing her mouth in his exhaustion and slumped to her side, pulling her closer to him and throwing his leg over hers.

"I love you," he mumbled sleepily, and she responded with the same words, turning her body around until she was spooned against him. He kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes, thinking that he felt a little sticky, but not really caring enough to do something about it. He'd almost drifted off to sleep when he absentmindedly kissed her shoulder again, and something about the way her skin felt under his lips felt _wrong,_ making him open his eyes again. The first thing he saw was her shoulder, and although at first glance, it looked perfectly normal—well—beautiful, really, he could feel the tension under her skin. Then again, he should also have been clued by the fact that she couldn't settle into sleep--that she kept twitching and shifting in his embrace, but he had reckoned that maybe she was too warm.

Finally she turned back to him, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, "I need to use the loo before I fall asleep."

"Yeah, right," he murmured, but a minute later he heard the sound of running water, and sat, bolt upright, in the bed, running his hands through his hair.

She was taking a bath. Now this, in itself, was not really unusual; it was something that she often did to relax. And, in the present circumstances it ought to have made a great deal of sense (even _he_ felt a little messy, after all, and she was constantly accusing him of being a right old slob.) It occurred to him, however, that if she was anywhere near as content as _he_ was about what they had just done, she ought to have been a hell of a lot more relaxed, maybe even exhausted.

_Too exhausted to do anything but lie there like a useless lump._ Of course, it could have been explained by nervousness about the enormous step they had taken, but somehow Ron doubted it.

Hermione was _restless, _that much was clear. Which, judging by the complete contrast to _his _utterly relaxed body and mind, meant that he had not been able to make her feel anything _close_ to what he had felt.

_Utter rubbish at shagging. And why should you be surprised? She probably yelled like that because you hurt her. Missed signals--story of your life, isn't it? And for the next forty years, hell, for the next _hundred_ years, when anyone asks her about the first time she shagged--no, _made love_--she's going to say something like, 'Well_, Ron_ had a great time, anyway!'_

_Bugger. I always knew that everything I touch is crap._

_Unless…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Unless… _

Ron jumped out of bed and strode toward the bathroom door, but before he could open it, the rational side of his brain forced him to reconsider. Instead, he pressed his ear against the door, hoping to get some clue as to how he should act. He heard nothing helpful, however; just the sound of water being turned off and soft splashes.

_She really is taking a bath. At least she's not crying, anyway. But you honestly didn't expect that, did you? _Ron considered going back to bed and waiting for her to finish, but a little voice in the back of his brain seemed rather insistent that he go in and talk to her. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Hermione?" He heard another splash, louder this time.

"Ron?"

"Can I, er…come in?"

"Oh…of course…it's unlocked."

He opened the door, half-dreading what he would find, not really knowing what he was afraid of, but her warm smile was enough to reassure him immediately. Otherwise, she looked pretty much as he had always fantasized that she would look whenever she finished up a night with, 'Goodnight boys, I'm off to soak in the tub.'

Actually, she looked even better than he had imagined; though if he was going to be honest, in his fantasy the bubbles did not completely cover her breasts. He hadn't imagined that she would have her hair piled up on top of her head in that sexy one-pin-out-and-the-whole-thing-will-come-tumbling-down way, either. And her skin, flushed from the heat of the water, was far better than he had imagined. _Weasley, you need to focus on the problem and stop waxing poetic about her, you great poncy git._

"Ron?"

_Stop standing there like a gaping fish and say something._

"Is there something you wanted?"

_You. Preferably in the tub. Just as soon as I can manage it again. And then, maybe up on the counter, in front of the mirror. _

"Uh, just checking up on you." _Smooth, Weasley, really smooth._

"I thought you would be asleep."

"Uh, no. I just didn't realize…I mean, you didn't say anything about taking a bath."

"I know. Call me mental, but I just couldn't sleep when I was sticky like that. Plus I thought perhaps that a bath would help me relax."

_Ten points to Gryffindor. Because, clearly, she is not relaxed._ "Are you…is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no, not at all. Well, actually…don't laugh, Ron, but I started thinking, about…What I mean is, I took the potion earlier tonight, but I started thinking, and I came in here and did the charm, too."

Ron actually did laugh, but she didn't seem to mind, because as he was laughing, he said, "Yeah, I reckon that was a good idea, knowing my family history. And I don't think I'm quite ready for the 'Mum, Dad, Hermione and I have exciting news' conversation just yet."

She shuddered in response, and he let himself walk further into the bathroom, sitting down on the closed toilet seat (obeying the little voice in the back of his head, which told him that he wasn't done yet.) "So you're all right, then, yeah?"

"Just fine, Ron. Really, really happy."

He grinned, but somehow he knew that the little voice would not shut up so easily. He sat down on the floor at the edge of the tub, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing.

"Oh, that's lovely," she sighed.

Ron began to massage her shoulders in earnest. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Was it…what we did...was it what you were expecting?"

"Sort of. But then again, some of it was a little different than I expected. And a lot of it was far better than I expected," she said, and Ron resisted the urge to strut around, smirking like a redheaded Malfoy.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, Ron."

The little voice reminded him that she said 'a lot of it' which clearly meant; 'not everything,' and he knew that he was not off the hook yet. "But, did you…I mean, _what_ made it better than you expected?"  
She laughed, and he felt her shoulders shaking under his hands. "Are you asking me to look over your homework again, Ron Weasley?"

_Yes, please. And I'd appreciate it if you'd give me an 'Exceeds Expectations', or, even better, an 'Outstanding.'_ He used his thumbs to massage her neck, trying desperately to think of a question that would result in his desired answer without actually having to ask the question he was too embarrassed to ask. "No, not really, but…I'm trying to find out…what _in particular_ you enjoyed, I reckon. What parts…"

"_Oh._ Well…" She sat up, turning around until she was facing him with her arms crossed on the edge of the tub. "Being close to you, I suppose. Being…connected, like that. The way I felt when you touched me. The way you reacted when I touched you. The look on your face at the end, that was really…well, _brilliant,_ knowing that something I was doing--that we were doing together, made you that happy."

Ron kissed her again, this time on the mouth, wondering for the thousandth time what he had done to deserve her. The little voice was beginning to yell at him, though, reminding him that she hadn't described anything remotely like what _he_ had felt at the end. _Because she hadn't felt anything like it, had she?_

"But, Hermione, did you get to…enjoy yourself?"

She looked confused for a moment, then smiled, and answered in a low voice, "You mean you didn't hear all that moaning?"

"Oh, yeah, I did." _Damn hot, too, but it's best not to think about that right now._ He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. "What I meant, was; did you get to…er, finish?"

Hermione looked startled, and if he hadn't been watching her intently, he would have completely missed the flash of regret that crossed her face. But he _had_ seen it, and the subsequent silence as she wrestled with what to say to him made it worse. He snorted and sat backwards, leaning against the bathroom wall and staring gloomily at the floor.

"No," she said, in a gentle voice. "But Ron, really; I didn't expect to. From what I've heard, _nobody_ does on their first time."

"_I_ did," he pointed out, still avoiding her eyes.

"That's not what I meant. _Girls_ don't, as a rule. It's not as easy for us. And I'm so highly strung, well, let's just say, I really didn't expect to. You haven't done anything wrong, Ron."

"But, that seems a bit unfair." He looked up at her, scowling.

"Probably so, but it isn't fair that women have to go through the agony of childbirth, either. It's just the way that things are."  
"Only Muggles go through agony," he pointed out.

Hermione laughed. "I'm going off on a tangent, aren't I? I think I must be channeling my feminist aunt."

"What's a feminist?"

"Something the wizarding world has no need of, thank god. I'll explain another time. At any rate…"

Ron interrupted. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Don't you dare apologize. You didn't do _anything _wrong. For your information, I thought it was absolutely lovely. Perfect, really. I _loved_ having you inside me - it felt fantastic. And as for the rest…we will have plenty of other times to get it right, won't we?"

_Plenty of other times._ The thought made Ron cheer up considerably. Somehow it had never occurred to him that they would get to do this again and again. With any luck, they could do it two or three times a day for the next seventy years or so - or at least until they were too old and tired to do it anymore. _But there'll only be _one_ first time,_ the little voice sighed.

Ron wished he was more like Hermione and had taken the time to research the whole business. How could Bill have been so insistent that a bloke should show the girl a good time if it was impossible? There _had_ to be a way. Brushing off the idea of sending Pig off with a message for Bill, it suddenly occurred to Ron that the answer was right in front of him. _Research._

"Hermione, can I ask you another question?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Have you _ever…_I mean, before this -er, _finished?"_

Hermione looked outraged. _"What?_ How can you ask that, you _know _you're the first…"

"That's not what I meant!" he hurriedly interjected. I meant, you know…on your own."

Now she looked scandalized. Her mouth kept opening and closing and her cheeks were bight pink.

"I'm not asking to embarrass you or anything, Hermione. There's nothing wrong with…I mean, if it makes you feel any better, I've done it…" He broke off, feeling his ears burning.

She turned around again, resting her back against the tub and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Ron reached out to touch her hair, then slid his hand down to her shoulder again. "Lots of times," he added.

She let out a snort, but he could feel her shoulder relaxing under his hand. Finally, he heard her say, in a very small voice, "Once."

He tried his damnednest not to dwell on the mental picture that it brought to mind, but she made it bloody well impossible by continuing. "That night, last month, when you…I couldn't stop thinking about us, and then I had this dream, and then I woke up and I…"

_Focus, Weasley._ "The reason I ask is because I thought maybe you could, er, show me…"

"I couldn't possibly!"

"I don't mean give me a show!" _Although, come to think of it…_

_Focus, Weasley!_ "I meant more like teach me--something like, yeah--_practical instruction._ You could show me what to do."

"I can't," she whispered desperately.

If Ron knew anything about Hermione, he knew that he would get much further by challenging her than by pleading with her. "Oh, that's bollocks and you know it, Hermione! There's nothing you like better than telling people how to do things. And now I am offering myself up as a willing student, someone who only wants to do something that _will make you feel good, _and you're going to get all embarrassed on me? Have you forgotten some of the things we've just done? Besides, not only have we seen each other starkers, but I've seen you with a sodding tail and whiskers and you've watched me belching up slugs. It's mad to be embarrassed about anything in front of each other after all we've been through. "

She laughed, something he took as a good omen. He slipped back behind her, wrapping his arms around her still-crossed ones. "I really wish I could have known ahead of time how to make it as bloody fantastic for you as it was for me, but I'd love the chance to make it up to you now."

She turned and kissed his cheek. "I wouldn't have liked it as much if you'd known exactly what to do, Ron. I love that we're figuring it out together."

"Well, I could have done a little homework on it - like you - but you did sort of take me by surprise. I thought I had loads more time to prepare."  
"You always did put your homework off 'til the last minute," she teased.

"Yeah, but I always got it done in the end, didn't I?" he replied. "Now, finish your bath and meet me back on that bed as soon as you can."

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Ron very quickly found that he could not sit still under the covers as originally planned. It occurred to him that since this was all about making Hermione relaxed enough to really let go, a little cleaning up of himself and the sheets might be in order.

He wondered if he could manage to conjure up a bottle of wine like his brothers seemed to do so easily. However the spell - if it had ever been taught to him, was not forthcoming to his memory. He supposed that the powers-that-be at Hogwarts probably saved those sorts of spells for final year, assuming that younger students would (if able to) come to class drunk all the time. He thought he might be able to manage Summoning a bottle from downstairs but decided that that might cause too many problems in the long run. So the idea of using alcohol to relax her was out, then.

He decided that lowering the intensity of the candles couldn't hurt, however. If _he _was nervous about leaving his body open for inspection, Hermione might very well be, too.

His heart was racing by the time he heard the door open. She was standing there in a battered flannel dressing gown and her hair was still piled up on her head. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself," she replied, and the warm smile on her face and her bright eyes went a long way toward relaxing him.

"Should I…"

"Yeah, sit down here," he said, patting the mattress near his thigh.

She complied without any fuss, and something about her, maybe it was the way that her cheeks glowed or her eyes sparkled or her hair crackled with energy, but Ron sensed that she was actually really keen to get back in the saddle again, so to speak. He wondered if 'excited' or 'relaxed' was a better goal for him to shoot for, and found himself asking, "D'you know how to conjure wine?"

"You want to drink _now?"_

"No, I want _you_ to drink…or, rather, I want you to loosen up a bit. So, do you…know how to conjure wine?"

"In theory…yes…but in practice, no. And it would actually be stealing, because I would have to borrow it from downstairs."

"They wouldn't notice a glass or two…."

"But I _do _know how to turn water into rum."

"You do? Wasn't that what Seamus tried to do, back in…"

"That's what gave me the idea, actually. I went and looked it up."

"So, would you like a little rum?"

"Oh! Um…I guess…Why not, really?"

Ron jumped up and went to the bathroom, filling up the solitary glass that her room provided with water. He walked out and handed it to her. He left her to her task, choosing to go back in the bathroom and use the loo. As he came back in the room, he could see her draining her glass, grimacing.

"Good lord! And people drink that _on purpose? "_

"I reckon it takes some getting used to, Hermione."

"So why bother, then? Who wants to get addicted to something you have to force yourself to like?"

"Dunno. But I wanted you to have it because I want my…er, kisses to make you lightheaded."

"I don't need rum for that, Ron." She lowered her eyes, blushing.

"Wicked," he breathed, pulling her face between his hands and kissing her soundly. She seemed to really like it, and he could actually taste the rum in her mouth. For a few moments he considered trying to kiss her into relaxation, but reckoned that would risk him getting excited all over again. He had assumed (based upon his exhaustion of twenty minutes ago) that he couldn't count on his cock to be any use to him the second time around. That glimpse of her in the bath, however, and the shadow of her breast that he could see on the edges of her dressing gown left him wondering if he didn't have something left over after all.

He decided, however, to start on something a little safer - specifically a massage.

"Lay own on the bed and take your dressing gown off, will you?"

"Off? Can't I…?"

"I want to rub your back a little."

"Oh…How about if I just…lower it?'

"Yeah," he said as his hands covered her neck and shoulders, working on the knot of tension he found there.

"Really, Ron…this is lovely and all but at the moment I'm much more interested in kissing you."

"Oh, yeah, sure, he said, and after kissing her neck, he carefully rolled her over, covering her mouth with his. Before long, she writhed against him, pulling his head closer to hers, fastening her mouth on his greedily. His hands fumbled at her the tie of her dressing gown, opening it until there was a long narrow line of flesh in between the edges of the fabric. He ground his body against hers, testing her reaction. She seemed to like it because she lifted her hips up in response. He started to make his way down her neck, wondering if she was ever going to say a word to help him along.

She ended up opening the rest of her robe on her own, and once again, he reveled in the sensation of her skin against his.

"Where d'you want me to touch you?" he asked, and her maddening reply was…

"Anywhere—where do _you _want to touch me?"

Ron decided not to give up in spite of her uncharacteristic passivity. He reckoned he needed to ask really specific questions, and hoped that the bossy-know-it-all would emerge from her embarrassment sooner, rather than later. He summoned all his boldness. "D'you want me to touch between your legs, or do you want me to touch your breasts? _Either is_ great with me, I just need to know which to start on.

"Oh…right…." She hesitated for a moment then took his hand and guided it to her breast, sighing happily as he began to knead it.

He lowered his mouth to her breast, and the sigh became a groan. Now that his head was not full of the need to climax, he had the presence of mind to listen to her reactions more carefully. He drew his tongue across her nipple, giving it the gentlest pressure possible and circling the tip with his tongue.

"D'you like that?" he asked, and she responded in more of a moan than a word. _Apparently so._ He blew over the moistened tip, and received in return a shudder, and an even louder moan. He had a random thought that adding ice to the equation might make the sensation even more enjoyable for her, or maybe even something warm, like caramel sauce or hot fudge. Suddenly, Ron's mind was racing with the possibilities, and he realized that a lifetime of shagging her might not be long enough to act upon all of them, but he was certainly going to enjoy trying.

He took a moment to slide his fingers over her stomach and down her thighs, enjoying the way it made her shiver. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the area between her legs. He slid his hands up, brushing a couple of fingers over her bath-damp curls. She went very still, and he looked up at her face to find her breathing hard, watching him with an expectant look on her face he licked his lips and brushed his thumb back and forth across her folds. She opened her legs further, closing her eyes.

"Don't do that," he said, sliding a fingertip towards her entrance, which, though not as wet before, was still warm and soft. "I want you to watch this. Tell me if I'm doing it right."

She laughed slightly. "You'll do, she said.

He explored her with his fingertips, finally finding one spot that seemed to make her jump off the bed. After a breathless moment, he found it again and touched her hesitantly with the pad of his thumb.

"Too much," she said, almost apologetically, and he withdrew his thumb quickly.

"No!" she said, and grasped his wrist. She closed her eyes again, but before he could protest, she had covered a few of his fingers with her own, guiding him back toward her entrance. She nudged his index finger inside of her and when she pulled it out it was glistening with moisture. She then guided his finger back to the sensitive nub that he had discovered, finally opening her eyes and looking at him pointedly.

He let out a muttered oath, feeling all of the blood in his body began racing south again He brushed his moistened fingertip over her, and she arched her back in response, groaning. He felt a triumphant smile spread over his face as he repeated the movement. Her reaction was equally as strong, but when he did it a third time, her moan sounded something like a protest. She grabbed his hand again, sliding a finger down over his index finger. This time, however, instead of moving his hand, she let her own finger circle the nub, making a strangled moan.

_Fucking hell, that's hot_. He repeated the movement, and her hand stayed next to his while he experimented. Sometimes she used her fingers for guidance, occasionally helping him moisten his fingers again, encouraging him to use more than one at the same time. Eventually, she seemed satisfied with the rhythm that he established and drew her hand, still moist from her own arousal, up his forearm and over her head to grasp the pillow. He watched as her breathing became labored, thoroughly enjoying the bounce of her breasts as her chest heaved. He saw her put her other hand on her breast, arching her back and nearly squirming away from his exploring fingers, which now seemed to need no assistance in keeping moist. That didn't stop him, however, from continuing to slide his fingers into her, a little further each time.

He tried to reconcile the sounds that were coming out of her mouth and the look on her face with the prissy girl that he had known since he was a kid and somehow, it all fit. _This_ was the girl that lit up like a forest fire when talking about house elf rights. _This_ was the girl that sent a flock of angry canaries at him in a jealous rage. He felt a wave of emotion wash over him - gratitude that she had been patient enough to look past all the mistakes he had made - bewilderment that in the end, she chose him of all people to share this with. She was fucking amazing and he didn't deserve her.

"Ron, god…feels so bloody good...so close…" she panted, and Ron felt ridiculously proud that he had managed to make her swear out loud. Her next words, however, completely floored him.

"Your mouth, Ron…I want…"

_Bloody hell, is she barking mad? I'm not doing that! _But he remembered how much George had laughed when Fred said something about Ron's oral fixation making some girl very happy. He had made it his business to find out from his dorm mates what Fred had meant by that, though he immediately wished he'd never asked. And then he remembered how bloody brilliant it had felt when Hermione's mouth was on him. Reminding himself of how much he loved her and summoning up every ounce of Gryffindor courage he could muster, he hesitantly lowered his mouth to her, swirling his tongue over the nub that he had discovered earlier.

Suddenly it didn't matter that he found the whole concept, well, if not disgusting, a little absurd. And it didn't matter that what he was tasting would not have been his first choice in flavors, nor that some of what he was getting all over his face had probably come from his body, too. Because Hermione absolutely went wild, and it was the most exciting thing he'd ever seen. She was grunting, and swearing, and calling out words that may have been requests or commands, but he nevertheless did his best to do what she wanted. He had two of his fingers inside of her and was sucking on the nub that she had helpfully identified as her clit, when he suddenly felt the muscles surrounding his fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, how are you doing that?" he asked.

"Shut up, I'm coming… can you… want you inside me again," she panted.

She didn't have to ask him twice. He slid up her body and slammed into her. What a difference an hour had made. There was no resistance, just hot slippery flesh, and the added bonus of the wicked involuntary spasms surrounding his cock. Hermione cried out at the contact, and once again, the sound sent him over the edge in a matter of seconds, but this time there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was right there with him.

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She was the first to break the silence. "Uh, right, then. That was…interesting."

Ron laughed, rolling off her and laying on his back. "Never knew you knew so many dirty words, Hermione."

She turned bright red and covered her face with her hands.

"You'll never get to scold me for my language, again, Hermione." He leaned up on his elbow, reaching over to trace a circle around her breast.

"Well at least I don't use them in public!" she protested, batting his hand away.

"Let's hope my silencing spell held up, or you may actually have done all that in public, Harry included."

"Oh, god," she moaned.

"Are you referring to me, or is that just an expression?" he teased.

"You idiot!"

"And here I was thinking that I was a quick learner…"

"I think I liked it better when you fell asleep after," Hermione said, turning her back on him.

He spooned his body behind her, whispering in her ear, "How am I going to sit across from you at breakfast tomorrow, remembering all of this, and still keep a straight face?"

"Well, you'd better…Harry will know something is up!"

"Harry already knows…"

"You _didn't!" _she hissed, nudging him with her elbow.

_Think fast, Weasley._ "Well, don't you think he'll have a pretty good idea when I don't show up for bed tonight?"

"Aren't you going to?"

"No I'm waking up with you, and then we're going to do this again, maybe in the shower. And after that…I'm never sharing a room with him again."

"At the Burrow…"

"Well, maybe not then…we'll have to sneak out to the pond…You've got a sex-crazed-maniac on your hands - especially when you come apart like you just did. It's bloody brilliant – makes a bloke feel powerful."

"Don't be smug, Ron Weasley," she said, turning her head to kiss him.

"I love you, Hermione."

"Tell me something I don't know…"

_Bloody-know-it-all._


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Harry Potter was not having a great morning. Deep down, he knew that he had nobody to blame but himself. However, he still chose to lay a bit of the responsibility on the pair in the room next door. He'd been determined to delay going to bed the night before, so he remained in the pub until closing time, becoming intimately acquainted with an unfamiliar beverage called tequila and a Canadian tourist named Gretchen

He had to admit that it was refreshing to talk with someone, oh hell, _flirt _with someone - especially someone who had no idea who 'Harry Potter' was. She had no way of knowing that the young man in front of her was doomed to either kill or be killed. She couldn't possibly be aware that he was burdened with a megalomaniac stalker, that he'd personally witnessed three murders in the last three years, that his parents had given up their lives for him and that he'd been forced to give up the girl who'd given him hope for the future.

All she saw was a quiet bloke with bright green eyes and baggy clothes, sitting by himself and nursing a Bass Ale. The first words out of her mouth were not, 'you look just like your father,' nor 'you have your mother's eyes,' nor worse yet, 'can I see your scar?' She merely made some banal remark about the weather and clearly stated her intention to get thoroughly pissed.

He would never have flirted with her if he hadn't been trying to forget that at that very moment, his two best friends were upstairs losing their virginity together. The irrational jealousy he was feeling was something he was not quite ready to look at too closely, and he hated the fact that he was sitting alone in a pub, feeling sorry for himself, while their relationship took a giant step forward. He tried not to worry that they would become so wrapped up in each other that Harry would fade into the background. He tried not to dwell on the possibility that he might die before ever getting the chance to do what they were doing with someone he loved.

And so, when the pretty girl with the dark brown hair and blue eyes offered to buy him a shot, he had accepted. He felt the liquid burn down his throat, causing a pleasant warmth to spread through his veins within seconds. She'd showed him how to make it go down easier, offering salt for before and a slice of lime for after, and he'd found that it actually tasted pretty good. So he'd tried another, then another. She talked a lot, about her travels and her plans, about the interesting people she'd met and the beautiful places she'd seen. Harry allowed himself to picture a life like the one she was having, with very little responsibility and a wealth of life experiences.

It would have been so tempting to follow her example, to run away from everything that had been thrust upon him unwillingly. But he thought about the two people upstairs, and knew that he wouldn't. They ought to have had it better than they did. If they hadn't chosen to come with him, to support him, their relationship could have developed more slowly, as it had been doing for years. They might have waited longer to take this step. But only yesterday, they had faced death at his side. If they wanted to grab a bit of life today, they'd certainly earned it. He wouldn't begrudge them their happiness. At least he _hoped_ it would result in happiness. Ron did have a tendency to blow things rather spectacularly when it came to Hermione.

That didn't mean that he wanted to lie in the room listening to them, though, so he'd stayed downstairs for as long as possible. And he'd left the pub without even kissing the girl, though he'd been sorely tempted to.

He awoke with a screaming headache and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Not only that, he'd woken up far earlier than he'd planned because the very noises he'd hoped to avoid hearing were loud enough to seep through his walls. You'd think a girl as smart as Hermione would know that sound carried in a bathroom. Or at least be conscientious enough to throw up a silencing spell. But no, apparently not. And it seemed to go on forever, too. He turned up the wireless and buried his head in his pillow, humming along with the song to the best of his recollection.

Once the noise had stopped, he'd thrust his aching head under a lukewarm shower with not nearly enough water pressure to do anything about his stiff neck. He tried to banish the random and unwelcome mental pictures that kept popping into his head, not only of what they had gotten up to on the other side of the tiled wall, but also what he would very much like to get up to with the younger sister of one of the participants.

Still aching, he made his way gingerly down the steps to the public room. He hesitated in the doorway, hoping that he would not catch his two best friends snogging over breakfast.

_Oh, crap, they are snogging over breakfast. Well, he's trying, anyway; she's laughing and pushing him away._

Harry tried to reason with himself. He really ought to be relieved; at least they were speaking to each other. If the reverse had been true, things could have gotten really uncomfortable.

He took another look at them as they ate and tried unsuccessfully to keep their eyes off each other. Harry had never seen Hermione look quite so pretty, and it had nothing to do with what she was wearing or how she'd done her hair. It was in her eyes, every time she looked at Ron, and the flush of her cheeks, and that smile that he didn't think he'd seen before. Or maybe he'd tried not to look when she had her eyes on Ron.

As for Ron, he was almost unrecognizable, too. His face was different, somehow. He seemed taller, possibly older. It hit Harry, then, like a ton of bricks, how lucky he was to have friends that were willing to sacrifice so much. Oh, he'd known that they would gladly give their lives for him, but somehow it had never occurred to Harry that they both were also risking the person that they loved the most, which somehow seemed to be more meaningful. He'd seen the look on Ron's face when he thought he'd lost Hermione, how all the color had seemed to drain from him, though he'd continued to work doggedly beside Harry.

He'd seen their faces as they reunited, too, and he remembered feeling that he needed to turn away, that the emotion between them was too much to look at without finding himself crying along with them and looking even more pathetic.

And somehow, for all that, they still managed to support him unwaveringly, and never let him feel like the outsider.

For all those reasons, and for many others, his half-baked plans of taking the mickey out on them for what they'd got up to in the shower this morning no longer sounded as appealing. Let them have their privacy. He owed them that much.

"Harry!" the sound of Hermione calling out his name pulled him from his musings.

He looked up to find Hermione wearing a welcoming smile and the barest hint of pink on her cheeks. Ron's ears were red, but his grin was warm, and just as goofy as ever.

"Morning," was the most neutral thing Harry could come up with in response. With a grimace, he sat down on the chair opposite them.

Hermione kept the smile on her face, but said, "You look pale, Harry. Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, had a bit too much to drink last night; _tequila_ was what she called it. I think she might have been a Death Eater in disguise," he joked.

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval. We'd better get you something to eat, then. And tea, too. I don't know if I packed a potion that would help, but you could probably get some aspirin from the manager."

"What's aspirin?" Ron asked.

Hermione shushed him. "I'll tell you later."

Harry laughed under his breath at them, and before he realized what he was saying, he said, "You look like you're feeling a lot better, Hermione."

She reacted immediately, her eyes widening and her cheeks turning bright pink. Ron coughed nervously as Hermione said, "Better? Did I look bad before?"

"Oh, no. I just meant…the caverns. You _were_ a bit of a mess when we brought you back. So were we, of course, but…anyway, Hermione, I'm really glad you're all right. You gave me a bit of a scare, there. Ron, too."

Hermione's expression softened. "Thank you, Harry," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand on his.

Harry looked away from her, feeling a lump developing in his throat. He glanced up to meet Ron's eyes, which somehow conveyed not only his affection for his friend and his girlfriend, but also his gratitude to Harry for not saying anything about their conversation the day before.

As the waitress came over to take Harry's order he watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye, noticing how they sat apart, but seemed to be having an entire conversation without words.

"So," said Hermione, batting Ron's hand away as he tied to steal a piece of her bacon. "Back to the problem at hand. Did Remus respond to your message yet?"

"Not yet," Harry replied. "But it's only been twelve hours since I sent it." He saw them exchange a glance. _Probably thinking about how much can happen in twelve hours,_ he thought. He snorted under his breath.

"That's all right. I'm sure we'll hear from him soon, but in the meantime, I think we should move on from this place. I did a lot of thinking last night."

Both Harry and Ron looked at her quizzically. Her eyes widened and she added, "I didn't get much sleep," which caused Harry to snort involuntarily and Ron to choke on his orange juice.

She reached over to pound her fist on Ron's back, ostensibly to help clear his lungs, but the glare she was giving him suggested she may have been doing it for another reason. She wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

He took pity on them, though the temptation to torment them came back with a vengeance. "Try not to kill the poor bloke, Hermione. Anyway what were you saying? Have you got an idea about destroying the cup or is it something else?"

Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. "I think-" She paused for dramatic effect. "I think that I might know what _'something of Ravenclaw's'_ is," she whispered.

Harry and Ron leaned toward her eagerly. All unwelcome thoughts about Ron and Hermione's sex life immediately flew from Harry's brain. _Back to normal, then. And aren't you the luckiest sod on earth to have them by your side?_

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_**Fin**_

_A/N: There is a possiblility that I will remove this particular story from this site, purely because it is a little too accessable to underage readers. If I do, it will remain available on Checkmated, where my pen-name is Ozma. I didn't think it would be fair to do that to those that have been following it here without some notice._

_Thank you to all who have read and particularly those who have reviewed. This story has been a load of fun to write. _


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